


Give You All My Sins

by ellipsometry



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Come Inflation, Face-Fucking, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Transformation, just a ridiculous amount of come, mid-bj devilman transformation, these tags are giving me heartburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 12:33:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14425485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsometry/pseuds/ellipsometry
Summary: “I didn’t think you’d be so forward,” Ryo had said, surrendering a rare smile and petting a hand down the perpetual duck tail of Akira’s hair.Akira shrugged, “I didn’t think you’d be so shy.”“I don’t think shy is the right word.”  But Ryo never tells Akira what the right word is.It's been months since the Black Sabbath, and Akira worries that Ryo is still holding back with him.  He finds out why.





	Give You All My Sins

Ryo’s hand sliding across Akira’s swollen cockhead should feel good.  It should feel _wonderful,_ it should feel _amazing_ – but Akira is distracted.  Too distracted to even get it up, which is a world’s first.  Ryo is pretending not to notice, still dutifully stroking Akira’s length with pale, baby-soft hands.  And it really should feel _mind-blowingly satisfying_ – but the fact that it should only pisses Akira off more.

“Can you—” Akira opens his mouth but immediately closes it, electing to bite his tongue instead, swallowing the blood when the muscle slices against his newly-grown fangs.  It’s getting harder and harder to keep the tertiary qualities of his Devilman form from mingling with his human body.  The extra hair (or is it fur?), the fangs, the devastating urge to fuck or fight nearly everything he sets eyes on.  Akira wonders if Ryo’s noticed— but of course he has.  Nothing escapes Ryo’s attention.

 _Can you stop_? Akira wants to say, and his legs twitch as Ryo’s ministrations start to feel better, Akira’s cock hardening under lithe fingers.  It feels wrong to refuse affection from Ryo; Akira never really wants to.  It’s a rare and beautiful thing, capturing the attention of someone as otherworldly and larger-than-life as Ryo.  It feels as surreal now as it did when Akira first met Ryo.

He misses being with Ryo, misses the way they used to fool around before the Black Sabbath, on those rare and wonderful occasions.  Just two teenagers, limbs tangled and scrambling in the back of Ryo’s car, grabbing at each other’s flesh with clumsy, needy hands.  Ryo had, curiously enough, the most perfect breasts, just small enough to fit in Akira’s hands.  Akira never questioned them, preferring to enjoy the way Ryo’s small, pink nipples would harden and flush a dusty rose color under affection from his tongue.

“I didn’t think you’d be so forward,” Ryo had said, surrendering a rare smile and petting a hand down the perpetual duck tail of Akira’s hair.

Akira shrugged, “I didn’t think you’d be so shy.”

“I don’t think _shy_ is the right word.”  But Ryo never tells Akira what the right word is.

Now, everything feels a bit different.  Ryo is hardly shy, helping Akira _release tension_ whenever he needs it, pushing Akira toward the bedroom and snaking a hand down his pants every time he observes Akira getting more wound up than usual.  But it’s devoid of the same breathless affection they used to share.  It feels clipped, neatened.  In his weaker moments, Akira used to wonder if he wasn’t handsome enough for Ryo – too weak, too short, too little.  But if that were the case, wouldn’t Ryo prefer him as he is now, merged with Amon?  Wouldn’t things be better than this?

“You’re going soft.”

“Huh?” Akira looks down at the sound of Ryo’s voice and—oh, well.  Yeah.  He is going soft, and Ryo looks annoyed, leaning back where he’s sitting on the end of his oversized bed.

“Ryo, are you—” Akira props himself up on his elbows, looking to see if he can find any hint of arousal on Ryo – a blush tinging his cheeks, a tent in his pants, anything – but he gets nothing, “Ryo, do you not like me anymore?”

Ryo actually looks offended, “Don’t ask stupid questions, Akira.”

“I’m serious!  We haven’t—you know, since—I’m just saying, it’s kind of,” Akira opens and closes his hands, like he could snatch the words he needs right out of the air, “When you just jerk me off like it’s your responsibility or something… it’s kind of a boner killer.”

“You should tell that to your boner from the last half-dozen times we’ve done this,” Ryo sniffs, and he gets up to leave, Akira gaping in his wake.  Ryo is remarkably good with his hands, but that’s not what Akira’s trying to _say_.

“Wait,” Akira pops up off the bed, snatching Ryo’s wrist, taking a moment to marvel at how small and delicate it is now in his hand, “It’s not your responsibility.  That’s a silly way to think of it.”

“No, it’s logical,” Ryo frowns, but doesn’t make a movement to pull away from Akira, “It’s because of me you’ve become Devilman, ergo I must help you deal with the unintended consequences.  Including your sex drive.”

“Maybe I’m just going through puberty.”

Ryo finally cracks a smile, “Kind of late for that.”

He sits down at the end of the bed, and Akira follows suit, grabbing Ryo’s other hand, anchoring them together, “I want you to enjoy yourself, too.  That’s the whole point of, um—you know.”

“Fucking?”

“ _Making love!_ ” Akira says, emphatically.  He pretends not to see the way Ryo rolls his eyes so hard Akira can see the whites of his eyes, “Are you afraid I won’t be able to hold back?  Because, I get it, but—I promise you I would never hurt you.”

Akira watches emotions cycle through Ryo’s face – understanding, then amusement, then some kind of holier-than-thou look that Akira would hate if he didn’t know Ryo well enough to know that he’s not _trying_ to be patronizing.  It just kind of comes naturally to him.

“Akira…” Ryo’s voice is gentle, and his eyes soften a bit as he reaches out to stroke the crease where Akira’s abs meet his hip, running his fingers along that line until he’s playing with the pubic hair there.  (Akira had tried shaving it off, once, but it had all grown back by the next morning.)

“Akira, I’m not afraid that you’ll hurt me, and I’m not afraid you won’t be able to hold back.”

Akira perks up, “You’re not?”

“No,” and, finally, Ryo smiles in a way that Akira knows to mean trouble, “I’m afraid that _I_ won’t be able to hold back.”

 

 

+

 

 

He really wasn’t fucking kidding.  That’s all Akira can think – actually, that’s all his brain cells are capable of recognizing, considering how preoccupied they are.  _Ryo really wasn’t fucking kidding._

It takes a bit of placating, but Akira finally coaxes all of Ryo’s dirtiest fantasies out of him, and once Ryo gets going it’s like an all-you-can-eat buffet of the filthiest shit Akira has ever heard.  By the time Ryo finishes running down his sexual shopping list, Akira is harder than he’s ever been in his horny little life, cock pressing insistently on the flesh of Ryo’s thigh, mouth dropped open and dirtying Ryo’s crisp white shirt with a torrent of viscous drool.

“See, I’m not worried you’ll hurt me,” Ryo had said, letting Akira cage him in against the bed, leaning up to bite at the shell of his ear, “I _want_ you to hurt me.  I want you to possess me, _own_ me.  I always have.  Can you do that, Akira?”

Akira does his best in the moment, coming at just Ryo’s words and dirty promises, drenching his torso in come _– so much fucking come, every fucking time_ – before collapsing on top of him, still twitching and grinding against Ryo’s thighs.  Ryo comes too, eventually, with the smallest, tiniest whimper.  Akira wants to bottle that sound up and keep it in his pocket.

Akira agrees to start slow, still worried about losing control, but even _starting slow_ requires a safe word and some mini lessons from Ryo.  _Where did Ryo even learn this?_ Akira wonders, but never asks.  It might kill him if Ryo had ever been with some other guy, and Akira almost hates the possessive fire just the sight of Ryo sparks in him.

Maybe this really is just what happens when you’re a teenager.  Maybe it’s the adrenaline of knowing the end of the world is barreling toward you at breakneck speed, the thrumming heartbeat of humankind resting in your upturned palm.  Maybe this is what happens when you’re in lo—

“Akira, I need you to focus.”

Akira groans, pulling perfunctorily against the restrains keeping his arms above his head.  He already knows he can’t break them in his human form, but he feels the need to try.

“I can’t focus on anything when you’re—God, you know.”

Ryo is on his knees, positioned right in front of Akira’s swollen, dripping cock.  And Akira, arms suspended from the ceiling, where ropes (of the highest-quality braided silk, of course) are tied around his wrists, pulling his arms up to where the rope loops through an O-ring hanging from the ceiling.  Ryo had hoisted him just high enough so that the balls of Akira’s feet reached the floor, and now his legs are trembling under the effort to keep himself upright.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Ryo says, tone so even Akira would suspect he wasn’t affected at all if not for the obvious tent in his shorts.  He hasn’t touched Akira’s dick all night, save for a few kitten licks, but now he runs a thumb through the precome on the head of Akira’s cock, using the slickness to lube his palm.

“You’re wetter than a girl,” Ryo muses, and Akira’s hips buck into the palm of Ryo’s hand, precome gushing over Ryo’s fingers.

“Ryo, please—” Akira’s voice breaks, and he bites the flesh of his inner cheek hard enough to draw blood.  It’s been _hours_ and if he were anyone else, he would have passed out by now, but the blessing and curse of Devilman seems to be unbelievable stamina.

Ryo wipes his dirtied hand on Akira’s trembling thigh, and Akira keens in disappointment, legs twitching and kicking out from under him as he arches and bucks helplessly toward Ryo’s mouth.  Each time, Ryo pulls away just a fraction of a second before the head of Akira’s cock presses against his lips.

“Not until you promise,” Ryo says, tracing the pad of his finger over the head of Akira’s cock, pressing down on his slit; just that little bit of contact has Akira’s blood boiling.  He can’t remember what he was supposed to be promising Ryo, but he would promise him the sun, moon, and Earth right now if it meant the satisfaction of release.

Ryo notices Akira’s desperation.  “I want you to fuck my face,” Ryo reminds him, leaning back and letting Akira drink him in, shirtless and pale and his for the taking, “And I mean _fuck_ it.  No holding back, just like you said you would.  I want to taste cock for a week when you’re done.”

“I promise, I promise!” Akira sobs, and God, does he mean it.  He suddenly can’t remember why he was ever apprehensive; a few hours naked and tied up will do that to you.

“Good,” Ryo nods primly, looking all business.  He climbs to his feet, untying Akira gently, lowering him to the ground to rest for a bit and drink some water, “You don’t really have to,” Ryo adds, quietly, “If you don’t actually want to.”

There’s always a small bit of bashfulness that Ryo brings with him into the bedroom, something uncharacteristic but charming nonetheless.  Maybe it’s not bashfulness, but a kind of deliberateness, carefulness.  Ryo is always so careful about what he does; every action has meaning.  Even if he’s a respected professor, he can seem, at times, unhinged.  Akira has learned, oddly enough, how reserved Ryo can be.

It comforts Akira, the shades of uncertainty on Ryo’s face.  At times like this, he can finally believe that Ryo is just human after all.

“I want to,” he murmurs, capturing Ryo’s lips in a kiss, “I promise, you’re all mine.”

 

 

+

 

Ryo is remarkably still.

It would be unnerving, unsettling, if Akira didn’t know that Ryo was being still for him, being good _for him._   They’ve laid down some pillows on the floor, to cushion Ryo’s knees, and Akira feels like warning Ryo that these (assuredly ridiculously expensive) pillows will probably be ruined by the end of the night.  But maybe that’s a problem for Future Akira.

Ryo finally wiggles a bit, opening his hips just a little bit more to spread his knees.  His cock is hard and red between his legs, bobbing toward the floor and brushing ever-so-slightly against the cushion there.  His hands are planted firmly on the floor – their “green” signal – and he’s looking up through yellow bangs at Akira.

Naked as he is, Ryo looks like a slip of a person, just a sliver of milky-white light in a darkened room.  Akira thinks, under ordinary circumstances, he would have as good a chance of catching Ryo’s attention as he would at snatching a star out of the sky.

“You’ve been waiting so long for this, huh?” Akira says, stepping forward, pressing his cock against Ryo’s lips, which part without resistance. Akira’s not sure if he’s talking to himself or to Ryo.

When Ryo leans forward, enough to swallow Akira’s cockhead, Akira laughs darkly, “So cock-hungry,” he rubs a hand through Ryo’s hair while he continues laving his tongue up and down Akira’s dick, “What would all your Twitter followers, all your genius professor friends say if they knew what you really were?  Just my personal cock whore.”

Akira thrusts forward abruptly at his last word, and Ryo chokes down a whimper, eyes slipping shut as he loses himself in the sensation of Akira using his throat.  They’ve done this before – perhaps not so harshly – and Ryo’s gag reflex has long since been tamed.  But Akira still enjoys the noise, the way Ryo’s throat twitches and spit pools in the corners of his mouth when Akira pushes him too far too fast.  Akira pulls back and watches a long string of drool falls onto Ryo’s flushed breasts, and Ryo shivers as the wetness slides across hardened nipples.

He’s back on Akira’s cock in a second, lavishing it in small kisses, sliding it across his face until he’s sloppy with Akira’s overabundant precome.  Akira would be content to watch Ryo do this all day, but that’s not what they have in mind for the night.  Instead, he hooks a finger in Ryo’s cheek, stretching the skin, feeding his own cock back into Ryo’s waiting mouth.

“Take it, fucking – _uh_ – take it,” Akira is drooling now too, hips snapping into Ryo’s face.  His right hand buries itself in Ryo’s hair, pulling at the roots; the left slides down the side of Ryo’s neck, feeling the satisfying way Ryo’s throat bulges every time he takes Akira’s cock deeper.

“You’re so good, you’re so, so good at this, baby,” Akira is babbling now, but he doesn’t miss the way Ryo’s throat tightens when Akira calls him _baby_.  He keeps going, drooling and flushed, muttering, _baby, baby, baby_ as he uses Ryo’s throat like it were nothing more than a sex toy, something existing purely for his pleasure.

Ryo whines loudly, vibrations from his throat massaging Akira’s cock, and Akira pulls back slow, liking the way his precome and Ryo’s spit trail from Ryo’s mouth, dripping down his chin and onto his perky breasts.

“You tired?” Akira mumbles, running a hand down Ryo’s cheek.  His face is beet red, a garish contrast against soft yellow hair.  It’s so strange seeing him like this, lips swollen, red-rimmed eyes, and tears streaking down his face until they’re indistinguishable from the precome decorating his cheeks.  Akira gladly adds to the mess, slapping his cock on Ryo’s cheek, once, twice, and again against the pronounced cheekbone.

“I said, are you tired?” Akira repeats, grabbing Ryo’s bangs at the root and holding them up, so he can smear the as-of-yet untouched skin of Ryo’s forehead with the cocktail of come and spit.  He doesn’t pause to consider why the image of his precome dripping through Ryo’s inhumanly long eyelashes makes something raw and hot turn in the pit of his gut.

Finally, Ryo croaks, “I’m not tired.”  It’s barely a whisper, and Akira feels it more than he hears it when Ryo talks, the hot breath against his balls.

He starts feeding his cock back into Ryo’s mouth inch by inch, and Ryo gulps it down eagerly, like it was his last meal on Earth, or the air he needed to breath.

That makes Akira laugh under his breath, “You really do love this.  You’re better at sucking dick than you are at breathing.”

Ryo twitches at Akira’s words, and his knees slip on the wet mess of the floor.  He falls forward, impaling himself on Akira’s cock, and Akira can’t help the feral groan that tears out of him, nor can he control the cruel way he holds Ryo’s head tight against his stomach, moaning while Ryo’s throat flexes, his legs scrambling for purchase on the slippery floor.

Once Ryo is settled – palms of his hands still planted obediently between Akira’s legs – Akira finally begins fucking Ryo’s face again, in earnest, no holding back.  It’s different than before, it’s different to discard all thought of Ryo’s pleasure or satisfaction and just _use_ him, like a tool or a sex toy.

“Nothing but— _mmhh!_ – a warm hole for me,” Akira grunts, and dirty talk still feels like he’s reading lines from a script, but it’s starting to feel more natural.  The noticeable shiver of pleasure down Ryo’s back helps.

It’s getting hard to form complete sentences, though, or to think of anything but _fuck, Ryo, fuck, fuck, fuck_ and Akira wants to drown in the noise of his balls hitting Ryo’s cheek, the errant gagging and choking sounds as he pushes past the inner tightness of Ryo’s throat, the wet gulping sound when he pulls out, before plunging back in all in one thrust.  Ryo’s eyes are glazing over with every thrust, but Akira is too turned on to notice, gripping Ryo’s hair with clenched fists and skullfucking him with all the power his hips can muster.

Except—he could always muster _more_ power.

The thought is intrusive, and once it starts, Akira can’t stop it, can’t stop the tightening of his muscles and the cracking of his bones and the hunch of his back as he starts to transform.  It’s painful, becoming Devilman – his skin tightens around his growing body until it tears and grows anew, dark and mottled.  He hunches over, grinding his teeth until his fangs cut his gums, and the blood drools out of his mouth, dripping down onto Ryo’s mussed hair and down the sides of his face.

_Ryo—fuck—_

He’s never been hard as Devilman before, but it stands to reason that his cock would grow along with the rest of him, and the new sensation is nearly unbearably hot.  Ryo’s throat is tighter than ever, searing and straining around Akira’s growing dick.  He should pull out, God he really should—but the feral, demon voice inside him urges him to thrust forward instead, holding Ryo’s head, small and gentle, in his clawed hands.

The next thrust seems to push past some kind of invisible barrier inside Ryo’s throat, until Akira is inside something even tighter and wetter and hotter.  He’s lucid enough to watch Ryo carefully for their safe signal, but Ryo makes no movement beyond arching his back and spreading his knees, thrusting down for any kind of friction against his bobbing cock.

He _likes_ it.  He likes having his skull speared on Akira’s inhuman cock.

“Shit—you’re so—” Akira’s second thrust into Ryo’s throat coincides with his wings tearing out from his back, and he’s breathless, roar caught in his throat.

Ryo is trembling like a leaf, and his whines, so small and quiet, die in throat as he makes room for Akira’s growing cock.  He’s almost blind to what Akira looks like now, eyes too blurred from tears and precome to look up.  But still, he makes no move to adjust his hands where they lay, palms down on the floor.

“So obedient,” Akira pulls his cock back, letting Ryo dry heave for a second before presenting his open mouth once again, jaw popping under the strain.  Akira happily obliges him, feeding his cock into the waiting mouth, “Don’t pass out on me.  Not that it would matter – _guh!_ – I’d probably keep fucking you.”

Ryo shivers, surging forward on his own to swallow more of Akira’s cock, and Akira laughs under his breath.  His voice is deeper as Devilman, or maybe it’s just louder.  It echoes, bouncing around the high ceilings of Ryo’s room, crawling under Ryo’s skin and making a home there.

There’s one last bit of his dick, now, that Akira can’t fit in Ryo’s mouth.  It had grown after his Devilman transformation, a hard, swollen knot at the end of his cock, about the size of a grapefruit.  He experiments with pressing it against Ryo’s swollen lips, and drinks in the full-body shiver that runs down Ryo’s spine.

“Be a good boy,” he purrs, thrusting against Ryo’s face, banging the knot against his stretched lips, begging for entrance, “Take it all, like you promised.”

 _I always keep my promises_ , Akira imagines Ryo saying.

He might not be able to keep this up; no matter how Akira batters Ryo’s face with his knot, they make no headway.  Ryo is blinking rapidly, eyes rolling back in his head, and he must be seeing spots from the way he’s swaying on the spot.  Even as Devilman, Akira keeps an eye on Ryo’s hands, to see if they’ve moved – they haven’t.

He’s beyond talking, so he can’t really warn Ryo when he feels his orgasm coming on.  It’s sudden, like a match lit at the base of his spine, shooting up his body with pyrotechnic urgency.  He grunts, bites back a roar, and squeezes down with one hand on the base of his knot, pushing it just one more inch into Ryo’s mouth.  Ryo goes limp beneath him, and Akira feels Ryo’s own orgasm spill onto the paw of his foot.

Akira’s not prepared for how satisfying it feels unloading his come directly down Ryo’s throat.  It’s inhumanly large load, as usual; Akira’s grown familiar with the, well, intimate differences in his sexuality since his transformation. Massive cumshots seem to be part of the deal.  They last longer than Akira is used to, for a minute or two straight, aftershocks jittering through his body long after he finishes.

Ryo doesn’t look surprised to be used as Akira’s human cumrag.  In fact, he looks pleased, even as come pours down his throat and into his stomach, so much of it that the flat plane of Ryo’s stomach curves out slightly – or maybe that’s Akira’s imagination.  Even so, Akira doesn’t let up, keeps himself lodged tightly in Ryo’s mouth until come starts seeping out from the corners of Ryo’s mouth, until he’s choking on it, eyelids blinking rapidly.

Only when Akira starts transforming back – growing smaller, bones shrinking and snapping back into place, knot receding until it finally disappears – only then does Akira slide his softening cock out of Ryo’s welcoming mouth.  The head of his cock catches on Ryo’s bottom lip, and it pulls it down obscenely, showing the cum still pooled in Ryo’s mouth.

Instead of spitting it out, though, Ryo closes his mouth and swallows it dutifully, shivering as the last bit of come slides down his throat.  He’s crying, eyes bloodshot and nose wet with snot, but he looks triumphant all the same.

“Baby,” Akira crouches down, still shivering through his own aftershocks, voice as soft as a feather, “Ryo, are you okay?”

Ryo just nods, looking down toward his hands, still planted firmly on the ground.

“Oh!” Akira flushes.  Somehow, after all that, the most embarrassing, baffling thing of all is that Ryo would submit himself to Akira at all in the first place, “You can, you know.  Move now.”

“Cheers,” Ryo smiles, voice small and still a bit distant, “But—Akira—”

Ryo makes a small, aborted movement with his hips, a minute thrust forward.  He’s still flush from head to toe, and though his cock is soft, it’s dripping like a faucet.  Akira’s eyes nearly bug out of his head, “Are you—are you _still—_?”

“I’m—I need you to—” Ryo paws at Akira’s shoulders, leaning forward until he’s hanging off him, knees finally too weak to hold him up any more.  Akira obliges him happily, stroking down his chest, over his stomach, still slightly bloated, down to his reddened cock.  Ryo’s whimper comes from deep in his throat, and he bites down on Akira’s bare shoulder, shaking so violently that for a second, Akira thinks something might be wrong.

“One more, baby, one more,” Akira soothes, stroking Ryo’s cock between his thumb and middle finger, overstimulation sending shudders up Ryo’s spine, “You did so well, so full of my come.  Just come again for me, one more time.”

It doesn’t take long before Ryo comes again, and Akira has to hold Ryo with white knuckles to keep him from curling up into himself as he orgasms, so worn out and overstimulated that his body can hardly handle it.  And still, Ryo looks as clear-eyed as ever as Akira rolls him over onto his back, pledging to come back as soon as he’s got some water and a towel.

“Just take me to the bath, please,” Ryo says.  Akira happily obliges him.

 

 

+

 

After they’ve showered, dressed, and moved into another room in Ryo’s massive loft that isn’t helplessly crusted with demon come, Akira and Ryo climb into bed.  It’s reflexive, the way Akira curls himself around Ryo, having grown so used to his larger form.  It wasn’t very long ago that Ryo was the taller one, the broader one between them.

“Ryo, are you awake?”

“Yes.”

“Do you,” Akira props himself up on one elbow, “Do you maybe like me better now?  Now that I’m all—” Akira gestures vaguely to his torso, “You know.”

Ryo turns to face Akira, eyes narrowed, “Akira, I thought I told you to stop asking stupid questions.”

“Well, why would I ask it if I thought it was stupid?”

Ryo clears his throat, “Because that’s what humans do.  Humans ask stupid questions, questions they already know the answers to.  Because they want to be guided.  They don’t trust their own judgement, even when they should.”

“Ryo, can you—I don’t know if I’m in the mood for a lesson on humanity.”

“Fine,” Ryo’s lip twitches upward, “How about this.  Everything I felt for you years ago, I still feel for you now.  I wanted to kiss you then, and I do now.  I wanted to be there for you then, and I do now.  I always have, from when we first met.  Maybe since before we met.”

Akira smiles, small and genuine.  He looks relieved, though Ryo’s intent wasn’t to relieve him.  It was just to tell the truth.  Because it doesn’t matter what form Akira takes, when it comes down to it.  If Akira were primordial ooze, leaking out of the crevices of the darkest, dankest cave at the core of the Earth, Ryo would still hunger for him, thirst for him, _need_ him.  Ryo would still love him.

“Thank you, Ryo.”

Ryo waves his hand, “Actually, I used to be the big spoon, you know.  Do you not like that anymore?”

“I didn’t—” Akira laughs, caught of guard, “I guess I assumed, since I’m bigger now.”

“Well, don’t assume,” Ryo rubs a hand down Akira’s arm, leaning down to press a kiss to the ball of his shoulder, “Let’s sleep.”

This time, when they lay down, Ryo is the one to wrap himself around Akira.  Slender arms thread across Akira’s chest, and it’s heavenly, the way Ryo can make him feel so safe, so cared for, so loved.

Akira falls asleep and dreams of angels.


End file.
